


Ce qu'on veut

by Naeherys



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, Lesbian Character, Neck Kissing, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV Bisexual Character, POV Original Character, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naeherys/pseuds/Naeherys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>uh, sorry. I was supposed to be continuing with An Assassin's heart Never Wavers but instead I've been really obsessed with vampires lately (don't judge--I'm not talking about Twlilight!) and wrote this short lil burst over a few days. yeah.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ce qu'on veut

**Author's Note:**

> uh, sorry. I was supposed to be continuing with An Assassin's heart Never Wavers but instead I've been really obsessed with vampires lately (don't judge--I'm not talking about Twlilight!) and wrote this short lil burst over a few days. yeah.

It's London, the year is 1901, and the girl’s lips are as soft as honeysuckle.

In the garden, all pastels and rose colours. Miss would come here often, though she had never seen the stunning creature before. Looked small, diminutive. Frightened, even. Miss had come here to get away from the bustle of the city, from her stifling life and stuffy house, from the kids, from awful Charles…

The greenness of the girl’s eyes woke her from her thoughts. She was crouching on the stone bench, a cat who has its prey in sight and is waiting for the perfect pounce. 

Miss pushed a lock of hair away from her face. It used to be white-blond, not anymore. Went browner, more mousy. She liked that better, she could hide herself in it, people didn’t notice a brunette as much, she didn’t like the way white-blond made all the men stare-- _what on Earth is she doing here? The garden was my secret place._

She smiled. _Nice day, isn’t it?_ She asks.

The girl had dark hair, and when she smiled it stopped Miss in her tracks. Striking. The eyes stretched on forever, into infinite tomorrows. 

_Do you come here often?_ The girl purred, all soft edges and a gliding, lilting voice. Her hands were equally as smooth, soft, and they traced Miss’s collarbone. An artist with watercolour; not reds and blues, but blood and saliva and a liquid laugh. She wanted her whole world to be a painting, if it felt like this.

After she sees the girl, Miss comes to the garden every day; she hopes for even a fleeting glimpse of the world she cannot have. She convinces herself that it is Genevieve’s colic that drives her out; after all, the baby shakes universes with her shattering wails. The girl knows otherwise. She’s practically a child herself, Miss thinks. She tells the girl that her body is young and her mind is torn between the innocence of childhood and more nefarious things. To this, the girl laughs, a lion in a gazelle’s hide. She says to Miss _I’m much older than you, darling._

It’s too late, then: watercolour becomes reality, and the redness of goulash and acrylic is suddenly Miss’s own blood, cascading down her neck and shoulder and collarbones. It doesn’t hurt, not much. She’s more shocked than anything else. 

The pastels become vibrant, she can see clearer. Miss knows she’s laying on the ground, her corset is unlaced, her skirts are at odd angles and she is immensely grateful for the fact that she has never seen anyone else in the garden. 

The girl is looming over her. She looks blank, if a little lusty. Miss swallows. She should be scared but somehow she feels numb, with a vague pang of gratefulness that she is free. Free. she shudders at the word; it has been so foreign to her for so long that she rolls it around in her mind, trying the word on for size, and it does not seem to fit.

 _I’m not afraid to die_ , she moans. _But make it quick. My family must not know the gruesome details. Clean me up after, would you?_ Now, the spurting hurts. She tries to move her finger to block the wound, but the girl reaches for her hand and lays a kiss on it. Her green eyes have alighted with fire. Heat seeps through onto Miss’s convulsing body and the girl pulls her closer. She laughs again but this time, it is not mocking. Gentle and sweet, rather.

 _I’m not going to kill you, sweet thing. You and I, we will have a wonderful time together_. Her index finger traces Miss’s cheek, slowly, and heat becomes a general fuzziness, hard to place or pin down into one cohesive feeling. Miss tried to focus her mind but all she can look at are the girl’s eyes. The rest of the world blurs but the eyes stare stock straight at her. _It won’t hurt soon, I promise, sweet thing._

Delicate hands curl Miss into the fetal position and she can feel herself being lifted, effortlessly lifted, into the air. The sun has set, how long has it been?

Miss counts vampyres instead of sheep. 

The girl with the green eyes begins to hum as she walks, and her prey has fallen asleep in her arms.


End file.
